An Eternity in Each Moment
by insertquerkypseudonym
Summary: Chapter 5: Collapsing the Spectrum. You always start with blank walls, it’s what you end up with that counts. The evolution of a marriage. Written for GJ7B.X’s 30 one shot challenge prompt 02: Painting.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Written for GJ7B.X's 30 one shot challenge Prompt #5 "Every once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale." It's going to take me a long time to get through them all, but I have some ideas . . .

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: I don't own LwD but as soon as they go up on ebay they're mine

* * *

I'll cherish your words and I'll finish your thoughts  
I'll be your compass baby when you get lost 

I wanna be the wind that fills your sails and be the hand that lifts your veil  
be the moon that moves your tide, the sun comin' up in your eyes

_Your Everything_, Keith Urban

* * *

An Ordinary Fairy Tale

She was sitting at the vanity, not watching her reflection as her step sister hovered above her behind cloud of hair care products. She could see the residual spray dancing like diamonds in the late morning sunlight filtering through the open window. She watched as the caterers set the tables in the mid October vineyard below; gleaming china and crystal stemware that caught the light perfectly with their golden rims to match place settings. She would have preferred silver to gold, but he had been right, the gold matched flawlessly with the deep reds and oranges of the fall setting.

Her sister, the maid of honor of course, was reviewing the wedding coordinator's notes for what had to have been the fifth time since they arrived at this perfect little country church in Niagara's wine country. Her mother was sobbing already. _My baby girl, so grown up and beautiful._ Over and over. _My baby girl._ Bridesmaids, three of her closest friends, one from high school, two from college and Marti,of course, bustled to arrange flowers and ribbons, their dresses a just-right shade of autumn red, not too long, but not too short, shoes and manicures to match.

She was oddly calm at peace for the first time in months. It was an ideal morning with blue sky and crisp sunny air. With all the activity around her, she was serene. The i's were dotted the t's were crossed and none of it mattered because today she got to marry her best friend. They could have gotten married in their parents' back yard for all she cared. She had even brought it up in early planning sessions, thinking it would be appropriate. After all, they had fallen in love in that house, he had proposed to her in that house, why shouldn't they get married in that house. But he wanted perfection, the storybook ending.

* * *

It had been in the pre dawn hours, before the stars had begun to fade on the morning of her eighteenth birthday. He had snuck into her room and perched on the side of the bed, simply staring until she awoke. She opened her eyes knowing he was there. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday"

He had presented her with a small velvet box which contained a band and three small stones, past, present and always he had told her. She had protested something about graduation and college and being too young and how could he know for sure. He had gently kissed her and pledged to wait until she was ready. He told her to keep the ring, to wear it only if she wanted to, keep it the box it didn't matter to him, she had his ring, she had his heart. She had compromised and wore it on a chain around her neck.

Months passed and they went in opposite directions to schools of their choosing. He had been patient with her noncommittal good bye hug and she had been sure he'd meet girls more his type in his classes.

When she allowed Jason Miller to kiss her after their last exam before winter break she had known, _he_ was the only one who should be kissing her. No one else would do. She hadn't been able to wait another minute to share this revelation with him. She drove the six hours from her front door to his, rehearsing what she would say the entire way there. She sat on his front step watching the fog from her breathing and the winter sunrise, rehearsing what she would say when she got the courage to knock.

In the end, she said nothing. He had opened the door and while he had been shocked to see her on his doorstep, unannounced, that early in the morning, what had surprised him even more was the glint of three small stones in the morning light, shining up from her left hand as she handed him his paper. He kissed her, not quite so gently and drug her inside, paper forgotten on the stoop.

* * *

The caterers, in their black jackets and gold ties were finishing up the centerpieces and laying out place cards. The three stoned ring sparkled happily at her from it's new place on her right hand. The photographer was snapping every potential memory and one of the bridesmaids had finally gotten Nora a tissue. It was nearly time and the girls were getting giddy. She smiled for the camera and thought to herself that the by the time she would step foot outside this church, she would really be a Venturi. The idea make her pristine smile turn to a full on grin and the photographer captured the look on film with a photo of her flanked in red by her sisters and friends. 

He knocked on the door before he entered, just to make sure everyone was ready to be seen.

"Show time ladies, time to take your places."

He held the door as the girls clattered past with their silk shoes the color of his tie and fall flower bouquets that matched the sprig pinned to his lapel. He closed the door behind them as she made one last swipe at her eyes in the mirror with iridescent powder.

His heart broke just a little as he looked at the wonderful woman she had become, and thought of how it was his father, rather than her's, who would have the privilege to walk her down the aisle. But she had asked George and he supposed that she had become more George's daughter than her own father's some time ago. It was only right that he have that honor, of both giving her away and welcoming her into their family again. She caught his eye in the mirror as he came up behind her.

"Where's George?"

She had been expecting her step-father, not her step-brother to come and fetch them from the vestibule. She was surprised to see him now, even though he was the best man, they were never really all that close. She had always chocked it up to their age difference, figuring they really didn't have all that much to say to each other, both too absorbed in their own lives. But now, here he was, looking misty eyed like he was ready to get all weepy over her on her wedding day.

"He's on his way, but there was something I wanted to do first."

He fumbled in the pockets of his jacket and she silently prayed he didn't loose her ring. She was just about to ask him when he produced a stunning double strand of pearls the color of fresh cream. He gestured with the necklace between his hands towards her and she nodded her permission for him to fasten them around her neck.

"These were Great-grandma Venturi's and they're only on loan. I think they're suppose to go to Marti as soon as dad's sure she won't hock them for a motorcycle"

He smiled and took a step back as they settled at her collar bone gleaming. She touched them gingerly; in awe at the gesture and that he was the one to make it. She spun in her seat and took his hand, squeezing gently, suddenly feeling more connected to him than she ever had in all the years they shared a house.

"Thank you Derek, they're perfect."

He crouched down to look her in the eye, careful not to step on the skirt of her dress as she pulled it around her feet.

"Can I ask you something Lizzie?"

She smiled at the childhood name, everyone called her Beth at school, she had gotten her family to switch to Beth over time, everyone but Derek, he still treated her like she was thirteen years old.

"No, you can't ditch the reception to watch the Leaf's game. We're having the hotel record it for you I promise."

He grinned and nearly laughed, but his eyes looked almost pained. He squeezed the hand he was still holding.

"Thanks, but no, that's not it. . . . How did Edwin do it? Get you to not care about the whole step thing. Why did you say yes?"

She should have known. Derek, her still desperately in love with Casey and still too proud to really do anything about it step brother, soon to be brother in law was looking for the easy way to get what he wanted. Poor man, he still didn't understand that love, is very rarely easy. She stood and allowed him to escort her down the stairs to take her place at the back of the church where George was waiting for her.

"When you take Casey's arm down there and walk her down the aisle to stand up for us today, really look at her and realize that every once in a while, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairy tale. But it's what you do with it that makes all the difference. Edwin never made me guess how he felt; I knew he loved me before I understood what that truly meant. He took a chance and was honest with me because he wanted us to be together more than he wanted to be right. And that was more important than what anyone else thinks or says. Edwin and I have always been us, a team. You and Casey have to care more about each other than you do about yourselves or it's never going to work. You don't just get a happily ever after, you have to earn it."

"When did you get to be so smart?"

"Somewhere between you moving out and me agreeing to be Mrs. Venturi I guess."

He handed Lizzie to a wet-eyed George and made his way up to Casey's side. She was breathtakingly beautiful in that deep red dress with her dark hair spilling down her back in loose waves. He looked out at the crowded church full of October sunlight and Edwin standing looking more confident than he'd ever seen his brother. A sudden ache of jealousy threatened to render him immobile as he contemplated not being the man that stood, waiting for Casey at the front of a church, not being the man that knows what she feels like first thing in the morning, not being the man who carries her children to bed when they fall asleep waiting for Santa Claus under the tree.

He took her hand and she looked at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and he wondered if they were tears of joy or regret.

"Another MacDonald, turned Venturi" He quipped as the music began, hoping to get a read on what she was thinking.

"Two out of three, that ain't bad." She countered in the completely noncommittal MacDonald fashion. But her eyes were smiling along with her mouth, so that was good.

Just before they stepped out into the church to lead the attendant's procession he leaned in close and whispered "How 'bout we test the theory that the third time's a charm?"

* * *

Fin. 


	2. Unrequited

A/N: Written for GJ7B.X's 30 one shot challenge prompt 21: Scream. This is my first attempt at a second person narrative, let me know how it worked for you (or didn't).

Spoilers: WARNING – Includes spoilers from Make No Prom-ises which I gleaned while lurking on Live Journal. Also includes references to When Derek Met Sally.

Disclaimer: not mine

* * *

Anyone who ever loved could look at me  
And know that I love you 

- _Anyone Who Had a Heart,_ Burt Bacharach

* * *

Unrequited

Perfect. Everything turned out simply perfect. Somehow you've transitioned from Klutzilla the super–keener to prom queen and the quarterback's girlfriend.

And you always wonder how that happened.

You couldn't have asked for a more perfect ending if you had scripted it, from the glittering dress to the glimmering tiara. Max has his strong arms around your waist and you bristle when he calls you his princess. Max doesn't notice how your body tenses, but noticing things has never been Max's strong suit.

There's a smile plastered across your face and you're sure every girl there thinks you've got this fairy tale life. But something inside of you is screaming that _if Max is your prince charming, why is it always Derek who comes to your rescue?_

* * *

Your mother insists on taking pictures when you finally come down in the new dress. Derek, so casually, flings his arm around your shoulder. You always wonder how he does that so often and still manages to come across as despising you. As his arm settles across your back, you resume the position, arm closest to him straight by your side, opposite arm across your abdomen so you can grip your elbow and no one will notice your knuckles turning white. From behind the camera, your mother criticizes. 

"Casey, move your arms, I can't see your dress when you stand like that."

Doesn't she know? This is how you stand when Derek gets too close. Close enough to see that he missed a spot shaving. Because if you don't hold your arms down, you may just reach out and brush that spot under his chin with your thumb and how weird would that be?

But you're an obedient daughter so you loosen your grip and hope the eye roll and exacerbated huff are enough to conceal the goose bumps that appear when you slip your arm low behind his waist and smile for the photo. For one insane moment you find yourself pretending that this is your real life, and there are no dates waiting for the two of you back at SJS High. That when the flash fades, he would keep his arm across your back and whisper in your ear about how beautiful you look.

You jump away as soon as you hear the click and hurry through the door before he has a chance to open it for you, just in case. It is the most awkward ride to school you've ever had in your life. But Derek doesn't seem to notice, which is weird, because he's always ready to exploit whatever makes you uncomfortable.

* * *

Now you're pretending to smile and force a laugh when Max tries to dip you. But you're really watching _him_ falling in love with _her_ right before your eyes. And something inside of you is screaming that _it's not fair!_ You realize you sound like a toddler, even in your mind, but at the moment, you don't care. You want to have a legitimate reason to hate her, like she's dumb or cruel or conceited, but really she's pretty and nice and witty and perfect for him so you hate her anyway. 

The music plays on and you look up into Max's eyes. He's smiling down at you with perfect teeth and you feel dead inside. No passion, no fire, not even remote interest stirs.

You wonder how you ended up like this.

As you spin, you catch a glimpse of _him_ looking at _her_ in a way you were sure he'd only look at you. You're nauseous as he brushes hair out of her eyes and says something to make her laugh because she's just planted a soft kiss on that spot under his chin. And something inside of you is screaming, _no… he's not supposed to love her, that look, that spot, those things are mine! _Because they're all you're ever going to get.

She gets him, his breath on her neck and his hands on her skin. You hate her because she's beginning to understand him the way you were sure only you ever would. She calls him on his bullshit and rolls her eyes at his silly jokes. She's you, only blonder and less complicated. So you hate him for taking the easy way out instead of taking a chance with you. Because really, isn't it obvious to everyone?

Max is talking and you haven't heard a word, so you giggle and nod and decide maybe you're doing a better job at hiding your feeling than you thought.

For reasons you have yet to understand, the four of you have shared a limo. So you bounce from after party to after party together, yet not. You take the drink Max offers thinking it would help stop the rushing train of not-okay thoughts clamoring through your head. One sip and the nausea returns so you revert back to bottled water.

The parties are loud and mostly lame, so you end up walking the beach at Lake Huron. Max has lent you his jacket but it smells like it's been stored in mothballs since the turn of last century and you think you'd rather just be cold. You're trying to come up with a convincing argument for turning around to follow Derek and Sally, but even in your head the reasons are all about your need to know what he's saying to her so you just carry your sandals and stay silent.

Max is rambling about stars and eyes and oceans and something inside you is screaming to _just end it already and get on with your life._ But its post- prom, your royal picture is for sure going to end up in the year book and why taint that memory unnecessarily? It's not as if you can have what you want anyway.

And you wonder when you became one of those girls.

Back in the limo, you have the first genuine laugh of the night when you try to go through the 24 hour drive through for fries and sodas and end up not being able to get the car around that tight corner from the speaker to the window. Your tears from laughing are just beginning to fall when Derek puts his hand on her knee and kisses her temple. A few tears still come, you're just not laughing when they do.

Finally, you're home. Dawn is threatening to break as you climb the stairs. He's beside you, a step behind and you find yourself pretending again. He's walking you to your door and this is the real end to the real date, the other stuff; that was just cover for this clandestine affair. But he walks right past you to his own door.

You look at his door, then your own and wonder if he is ever kept awake at night by your breathing the way you are by his. Even though you realize there is no logical way you can hear him breathing through the wall, late at night you know you do.

"Night, Case." He says and your heart jumps out of your throat so you can hand it to him. Inside you're screaming _Why her when I loved you first?_ But you just say good night and crawl into bed. You watch the patch of sky outside your window grow progressively lighter and listen to him breathing while you contemplate the screaming in your mind.

And you wonder if it will ever stop.

* * *

Fin 


	3. of Gluttony and Gratitude

A/N: Written for GJ7B.X's 30 one shot challenge prompt 16: Thanksgiving.

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: not mine

* * *

of Gluttony and Gratitude

"Thanksgiving is an American holiday, Derek." She passed a bowl for him to dry. "Besides being a bogus holiday. I mean, the English and Spanish stole the natives' property and pillaged their land . . "

"Look, Christmas is still a month away, the Halloween candy is long gone and practice is kicking into five nights a week. All I'm saying is that a man needs to eat."

"When you see one, let him know the leftovers are in the fridge."

"How about a Fallapallusa Feast?" he teased, snapping her backside with his drying towel just to hear her squeal.

"Der-rek!"

"See, the American's have the right idea, a national holiday dedicated to laying around all day watching sports while the women spend all day in the kitchen, where they can't bug you, preparing a huge spread. All you have to do is eat then get back in the recliner for a nap."

"You. Are. Such. A. Pig." She spat through clenched teeth, handing over the big casserole dish so quickly he almost dropped it. Soon she'd be so flustered she'd start stuttering which was always an entertaining way to pass the time while drying.

"You know I'm irresistibly charming."

"If by 'irresistibly charming' you mean 'annoyingly egotistical', then yes. The holiday isn't about football or food, it's about being _thankful_, hence the name _Thanksgiving_. I know it's a difficult concept for you to grasp."

"Oh, I understand thankful."

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter next to the sink so he could see the eye roll from her in response. He congratulated himself yet again on being the master at pushing her buttons.

"Amy Livingston, this Saturday night."

Casey spun around with soapy hands, spraying him with bubbles as they landed haughtily on her hips. Her eyes were huge and there was water dripping across her waist. He fought the urge to wipe the drops from her exposed abs by raising one eye brow.

"You alright Case?"

"Amy Livingston? As in Amy- Max's ex-girlfriend, bitchy head cheerleader, look, I can put my ankles behind my ears- Livingston?"

"The one and only." He grinned at her, definitely the master.

"URGH! You. Are. SUCH. A. Pig!"

He picked bubbles off his shirt and flicked them back at her. "Actually, you should be thankful I'm taking Amy out this Saturday too."

"Keeping the sluts off the streets may seem like charitable work to you, but I don't see why I should care."

"Max is going to your recital Saturday then?" His grin never faltered, she was in so far over her head, poor naïve Casey, she just didn't see past the rose colored glasses sometimes.

"Yeah. I mean he was going to have to go to his grandmother's this weekend, but when she got sick, he said he could make it. Why?"

"And he told you he could go, when?"

"Yesterday. But I don't see how any of this has to do with…" Her face was screwed up in confusion and Derek couldn't believe she still didn't get it.

"Funny, that's when I asked Amy out." He could see the wheels spinning and comprehension dawning in her eyes.

"I don't believe you. Max loves me. He wouldn't do that to me."

Women.

"All I'm saying is that the football team and the hockey team share a locker room for practices and guys talk. How else would I know that you're not giving it up?"

"So, you're saying I should put out?"

God, were they really having this conversation?

"I'm saying the guy's a tool."

"Why should I believe you?"

She had turned back to the sink, but he still noticed the sheen in her eyes. Why did girls always have to cry? They cry when they're sad, they cry when they're angry, they cry when they're happy, it made no sense. He hated it when girls cried, even more when it was Casey. And Casey, she was the queen weeper.

"Then don't. I don't care, I did my charitable work." He dropped the towel and headed upstairs leaving her dry her own dishes.

He hated that her doubt annoyed him, that she could irritate him just by not believing him. He slipped on the headphones before he could delve any further; some things were best left unexamined.

She showed up less than an hour later, twisting the dish towel between her hands and looking apologetic. The best part about agitating Casey, was turning it around so that she came groveling back. He loved to see her all humble, it didn't happen nearly enough.

"So… Maybe a Fallapallusa Feast isn't such a bad idea."

"Great. Now, get out." He let out a relieved sigh when she scurried away without protest.

This weekend wasn't looking to bad, he had a date with one of the hottest girls in school, Casey slaving away in the kitchen with a guilt complex and maybe she'd finally get rid of that loser. Yup, he was definitely the master.

* * *

Fin 


	4. Scarred

A/N: Written for GJ7B.X's 30 one shot challenge prompt 09: I'm Sorry. I'm not sure of the timeline (thank you Disney), so I made my best guess. Oh, and theres one or two swear words.

Disclaimer: not mine, just playing around with a favorite cannon thread.

* * *

Always pushing us apart nothing left but scars fight after fight

_The Older I Get_ – Skillet

and my god how did we survive  
the paper scars, oh,  
bless my stars,  
you said you're sorry

_Paper Scars_ – Love Drug

* * *

Scarred

It's finally over. The speeches complete and the hats have been thrown. She didn't trip onto the stage and he actually made it through without needing to attend summer school. As friends, family and faculty descend upon SJS Thompson High's class of 2009, balloons float aimlessly amid the disorder and flowers are crushed between congratulatory hugs.

George ruffles his hair while Marti jumps on his back and squeals with delight as he places his mortarboard on her head and it sinks over her eyes. Sam and Ralph come barreling up and the three of them almost hit the hardwood, if not for running into Nora on his other side. He is still not sure about the validity of a diploma from an institution that would graduate Ralph, but if it's good enough for the University of Toronto, it's good enough for him.

The crowd seems to grow rather than dissipate and Derek is pretty sure he's hugged someone else's grandmother at least twice. He's surprised when Emily gives him a quick squeeze and dissolves into the chaos without lingering. There are flashes going off in every direction adding to his disorientation, but when the next set of arms wrap themselves around his neck in celebration, he achieves instant clarity.

Because he knows it's her.

Before he smells her hair or sees her face, he knows it's her. Just by the way his nerves are screaming at how perfectly his arms fit around her waist, he knows he's hugging Casey.

_Damn it._

There is a reason he does not allow her to hug him. He should never, under any circumstances have let his guard down. Because now, how is he suppose to let her go?

Her laugh is in his ear and the minty, fruity smell of her shampoo is in his nose while her knee is between his and her breasts are crushed against his chest. Adrenaline floods his body causing his brain to buzz. His skin feels like its on fire even though there are layers of clothes and graduation robes separating hers from his. And in the mist of all this he's forgotten how to breathe because she just sighs when he tightens his grip on her. He's trying to form a coherent thought, a persuasive sentence that would convince her to not let go. Ever.

But his time is up because she's pulling away. Holding on any longer would make it difficult to keep up the pretense of a friendly hug between step siblings. He knows that when she looks at him all the things he's never said are going to come flooding out unless he comes up with something off the cuff right now. Trouble is, his mind refuses to cooperate, and all he can think about is the way her arms have slid off his shoulders and her hands are now holding his. She squeezes gently and he looks up to see the sheen in her eyes. Before he even opens his mouth, she says

"I'm sorry, I d . . ."

_Fuck._

He had known this would happen. But the fact that he knew it would, expected it enough to avoid hugging her for three fucking years, didn't make the misery any less palpable. Playing Let's Make a Deal with the almighty, he's willing to swim through a Fear Factor-esque pit of mice, rodents, what ever so long as he could erase those words from his memory.

_I'm sorry._

I'm sorry, I don't love you.

I'm sorry, I don't really even like you all that much.

I'm sorry, was that your heart I just stomped on the gymnasium floor?

The possibilities were endless. All the things she could say to be logical, reasonable, let him down gently. God, he had to stop her from saying anything else that could be replayed, over and over, through his head while he's not sleeping later tonight. He drops her hands. Swallowing the bile that's risen in his throat, he turns into the crowd.

"I figured you would be."

* * *

A/N2: So in my head, this story was longer and happier, but the muse has decided that it ends here with an angsty Derek and a confused Casey, ah… young love. 


	5. Collapsing the Spectrum

A/N: So I made up a backstory off _maybe_ 10 minutes of screen time and the fact that I absolutely love how the kids' artwork is all over the Venturi/McDonald home – don't you just love fan fic? Written for GJ7B.X's 30 one shot challenge prompt 02: Painting.

Disclaimer: not mine.

* * *

all of my regret  
will wash away some how  
but i can not forget  
the way i feel right now

_Little Wonders_ - Rob Thomas

* * *

Collapsing the Spectrum

There is an old family portrait sitting under dusty glass in a mahogany frame which matches his desk. He rarely looks at it but it makes his coworkers more comfortable so it remains in its place on the far left corner, usually obstructed by files. The office is warm, full of rich, gleaming woods and supple welcoming leather. The décor emanates success and power yet allows guests to feel at ease in his corner suite. Defused light from bronze lamps makes the room glow.

There are no photos in his home. His top floor apartment is glass, chrome, and granite. He prefers these straighter lines, better defined surfaces. Footfalls echo across polished marble floors. The gleam from the lighting is harsh, reflecting off every available surface. He has every amenity, every luxury, yet no adornments taint the white walls.

He is not at home in his office. It reminds him of their first home together. Grad students, just married they had lived in a two room walk up down town. She had painted their tiny living space with light and air and cozy warmth. Her decorator's palette was filled with golds and reds because she couldn't stand to look at the minimalist black and whites of the eighties both at school and at home. He had liked the gold, it bought out the green flecks in her eyes. He had loved the red, it reminded him of her lips after a glass of merlot.

When he got his first paid position in environmental law they had celebrated with an indoor picnic of warm sake and cool sushi while rain dripped from the leaky window sill dampening the carpet. They made love in their lumpy bed and the green flecks in her eyes gleamed. He whispered promises of a better home, a secure and happy life.

They moved from the two room walk up to a one bedroom bungalow. It wasn't much better, but there were no stairs and a tiny yard where she could plant an herb garden and a few roses. She painted the little fence around the herbs a sunny yellow. She said this was to attract the bees. He wasn't sure that would work, but he kissed her and told her it was perfect. The pink roses were the same shade as her lips that day.

He worked more, longer hours than he could have imagined, especially after his promotion to Jr. Partner. But she was working too, and they always made sure to have dinner together, no matter the hour. The one bedroom bungalow was traded for a two bedroom house with a fireplace and ceramic tile in the kitchen. Upon arriving home after a particularly uneventful Thursday he discovered his home office had been relocated to the kitchen. He found her in his office, devoid of all furniture with a roller and a can of azure blue paint. Before he married a decorator he would not have been able to identify azure without a box of Crayolas. She smiled demurely as she dipped the roller.

"I liked the yellow it made your eyes sparkle."

"Yeah, but Dr. Hilldrich is sure it's a boy, so I thought blue would be a more clichéd choice."

They agreed to name the baby after his mother's Irish father, Connor Casey. When their beautiful baby girl arrived, with eyes to match her azure walls, they still called her Casey. He was in awe of his child. She would mimic his expressions and laugh when he kissed her tummy.

Jr. Partner became Full Partner as baby Casey became toddler Casey. They no longer had dinner together every night; it wasn't practical for a child eat at seven or eight in the evening. She kept his meals warm for him and once Casey had gone down for the night she would sit with him and share his beer. He had been in the company's legal library when Casey said her first word. Thankfully he had been home to catch Casey's first steps that Sunday afternoon. His golf game with the VP of Legal had been cut short due to rain.

He had wanted to sell the house and upgrade, she said that was nonsense. When Casey was almost three, she helped her mother paint her room pink because Dr. Hilldrich was positive this time it would be a girl. He requested a two week vacation for the first time when Elizabeth was born. While Casey had his bright blue eyes, Lizzie had the warm hazel eyes of her mother. They had picnics in the park and he taught Casey how to build a sandcastle that wouldn't topple. Tuesday of the second week, the company got hit broad side by a class action suit and she took the girls to the park without him.

The two bedroom with a fireplace became a four bedroom with a country club membership. The designer in her had no outlet; the house was immaculately decorated, custom colors blended throughout by the builder. They hosted their first executive dinner party and it was an overwhelming success. The guests raved about her lobster bisque and she graciously declined invitations to tennis that next Tuesday. They had their first full on fight when he suggested she really didn't need to work. He came home the next day and she had painted the two opposing walls in their bedroom a sage green to cover aftermath of the alarm clock hitting the wall instead of his head the night before. Perhaps she didn't know the color made the green flecks in her eyes seem hard.

He had come home early on a Wednesday. The girls were out of school on spring break and she was planning on taking them to see that new animated movie with Mike Myers as an ogre. He followed the sound of laughter and smell of turpentine up the stairs to Lizzie's room. The pleasant sandstone colored walls had been covered by a blinding mural created by his two daughters under the supervision of his lovely wife. Paint dripped off the baseboards on to the carpet. Before he could stop himself the words were out.

"What the hell have you done?"

"Lizzie wanted to paint her room, Casey wanted to help."

"Don't you like it Daddy?"

He stared at his children but didn't see the paint in their hair or on their bare feet. It was the first time he had made his daughters cry.

His trips to the corporate offices in New York became more frequent hinting that the VP job might be his if he was willing to go state side. His flight had been delayed, so they were all in bed when he finally got home. He would talk to her about moving after Lizzie's game in the morning. He noticed she had painted the kitchen blue. She told him later that it was periwinkle and that he used to know the difference. They signed the papers in the periwinkle kitchen and bought two condos, one in Toronto on the water and one in the states.

His Mercedes is gliding over the Manhattan Bridge when he takes her call. Her voice echoes off walnut veneer and black leather.

"George asked and I said yes. I'm taking the girls to London"

In one of his classes he learned that the human eye perceives the absence of all light as the color black and the presence of all the light rays in the spectrum as the color white. He never understood until now. No one would be painting the walls when he got home.


End file.
